


Realization

by simonspeaks



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Episode: s01e05 Bottled Appetites, M/M, Yen is really nice!! I love her, mention of monster hunting, she's also super helpful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:42:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonspeaks/pseuds/simonspeaks
Summary: Geralt hasn't seen Jaskier in years. When the djinn's magic causes Jaskier's throat to swell up and they have to go see the witch Yennefer, her perspective shines a new light on things.A fic in which Geralt realizes he's in love with Jaskier!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	Realization

**Author's Note:**

> So I actually wrote this like 10 months ago but never published it for some reason. Anyway here it is!

Geralt was lonely, that much was certain. His bard had been absent for the past few years. Geralt hadn’t seen him since he received his Child Surprise back in Cintra and Jaskier had headed off with some woman who would give him the attention he craved. 

Geralt hadn’t slept in days. Something inside him was festering. And he’d already checked if it was physical -- It wasn’t. So naturally, it led him to overthink things and search through his memories. Bored out of his mind while not being able to get any shut-eye, his mind wandered to years gone by. 

Love was something that Geralt had heard stories of. Epic tales where the hero got the girl and they rode off into the sunset together and lived Happily. Ever. After.

Geralt was not a hero. And when he “got the girl” it was always after paying a brothel. And it was never romantic. 

People usually either feared him and ignored him or feared him and wanted something from him. He had long ago forsaken the idea that someone would need him, let alone want him. And while he wanted that, he pushed people away, keeping them at an arm’s length so he wouldn’t get hurt. Or hurt them. 

It was quite a surprise when a bard had approached him asking for a review on his singing and not for him to kill a monster. There had been no fear behind his eyes then and there still wasn’t, except for the all too common occurrence of a noble wanting revenge for Jaskier sleeping with their family member. Geralt was always sure to step in when that happened. 

The only time that he’d seen true fear in Jaskier’s eyes was when the djinn had attacked his throat. Fear rolled off of him in waves that day.

When Geralt took him to the healer Jaskier’s breath was even rougher. The prospect of losing his voice forever made him curse. 

“Oh, fuck. Geralt,” he’d said, reaching his arm out, searching for support.

Geralt put a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, we won’t let that happen.”

The elf had given Jaskier medicine, but it would only help ease the pain for a few hours.

“The witch can help, but I would not go to her,” Chireadan had said, his eyes shifting around the room.

Geralt hauled Jaskier onto his back and rode to the mayor’s house. There were many surprises there, like the orgy. But by the time the witch had given him the medicine and Geralt had bathed, Jaskier seemed like he would be alright.

As Geralt was standing above Jaskier he thought about their past. He was worried about his bard. 

Yennefer came and stood in the doorway.

“I said some things to him. He’s…”

“A friend?”

Geralt turned his head around to glare at her. “I’d like it to not be the last thing he remembers.”

The concept of death was a friend to Geralt after all those years. But _Jaskier’s_ death seemed like something that shouldn’t be allowed. He didn’t want Jaskier to die. Not now, not ever if he could help it. It was inevitable of course, but to be so soon after their reunion seemed cruel. He’d thought about it before. In regards to his career, if he missed a shot or was too slow, it could mean catastrophe for Jaskier. Of course, that would be helped if Jaskier didn’t insist on coming with him on so many missions.

Jaskier’s face moved, just slightly, and Geralt’s eyes were drawn to him. In the candle light his skin was almost golden. The front of his shirt was covered in the blood he’d been coughing up. He wouldn’t be pleased with the stain on one of his beautiful shirts, Geralt grimaced. He would probably hear about it when Jaskier woke.

Yennefer now moved from the doorway to a desk in the corner opposite of where Geralt was standing.

“I’ll leave you to brood then,” she said and sat down, fiddling with the cap from the bottle the djinn had been in. 

His attention stayed on Jaskier as she crossed the room. Jaskier’s eyes twitched again, just barely, but it was enough for Geralt to know he was in pain. Since when had he known all these things about the bard? Like how when he was in a good mood he would hum a song that only he knew. How he went after the witcher like a lost puppy. How he was hardly ever afraid, even after all the monsters they’d seen together. How when he was nervous he would sing to comfort himself. 

Jaskier’s breath was steady now, and his heartbeat was back to normal, which made the warmth in Geralt’s chest bloom.

“You love him.”

Geralt looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed. It was something he’d never thought about. That he could love someone. He’d thought that becoming a witcher made it impossible.

Yennefer looked up from the bottle cap in her hands that she’d been turning over for the better part of five minutes. “What?”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked back to Jaskier and his doublet that he kept unlaced to show off his undershirt and the hint of chest hair that peeked out from underneath it. His soft hair fell over his forehead. Geralt was so used to the sight of Jaskier asleep that he could almost believe he wasn’t healing from a curse, save for the blood on his shirt. His expression was soft as the medicine did its work. He looked almost like an angel, though they didn’t exist.

“Fuck,” Geralt said, shaking his head as if to rid the thought from his mind, and stormed out of the room. He needed something to distract himself, something…

He went into the woods in search of a monster to fight, to kill. Something about the action of swinging a sword made his brain finally quiet down. He didn’t bother taking his potions, but the small band of drowners he found were easy to take out. When the small band of drowners had been defeated he went back to the mayor’s house. The sun was rising now, and he decided perhaps it was time to go back to the mayor’s house. The house was cast in a pink glow. He thought of going inside, but his muscles were still tight. Sitting around waiting for Jaskier to wake up would do him no good. 

An axe had been left in the stump of an old tree and a pile of branches was beside it. Geralt decided to split the wood, that being the closest thing he could do to slaying more monsters.

But it wasn’t enough and soon the adrenaline had worn off and Geralt was left alone with an axe, a pile of wood, and his thoughts. 

Images of his adventures with Jaskier came to his mind. The “demon” of Posada, the elves, the double wedding for the queen and princess of Cintra, the monsters he’d fought while Jaskier wrote songs about their adventures. Sipping on ale in taverns while Jaskier’s voice serenaded the crowd.

Someone walked towards him from the direction of the house. “He’s awake now if you’d like to see him.”

He looked up to see Yennefer in a dark blue flowing dress that reached toward the ground and fell around her in waves. Geralt followed her back to the house.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried once they reached the kitchen. He was wearing new clothes that didn’t have blood stains on them. He dropped the piece of bread he’d been eating onto his plate and lept up out of his seat.

“Jaskier,” Geralt hummed contentedly.

Geralt took that moment to take in what Jaskier was wearing. It looked too bland for him. An off-white shirt hung loose around his shoulders was tucked into black pants that needed a belt to be kept up. Geralt’s eyes traced up to Jaskier’s face. He looked refreshed, his eyes bright.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Yennefer said with a look of contentment.

“Thank you, again,” Jaskier turned to her, bowing his head.

Yennefer nodded and left. 

When she left, Jaskier turned back to face Geralt. “She seems nice enough. There’s some fruit and bread if you want some.” Jaskier grabbed an apple from the wooden bowl on the table and held it out to Geralt. His eyes looked Geralt up and down. “Why are you covered in sweat?” 

“A couple of drowners in the woods.”

“Here, eat.” Jaskier held the apple out to Geralt.

He took it. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh fine except for the filling less pie comment.” He looked pointedly at Geralt.

Geralt looked down, ashamed. “Hmm.” 

Jaskier sat down at a stool and grabbed an apple for himself, munching on it as Geralt thought things over. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Geralt said, clearing his throat. “And it was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

A smile graced Jaskier’s lips and Geralt felt the fondness in his chest grow.

“Is that a smile I see?”

Geralt tried to straighten his expression, but the small smile persisted.

“It _is_ .” Jaskier got out of his seat to get a better look and drew closer to Geralt. “I’m going to write a song out of this. _The White Wolf’s smile_ -” 

“Don’t,” Geralt said with less bite to his bark than he’d intended. It ended up sounding tired.

Jaskier gave him a smile, softening his entire face, and let his eyes travel over Geralt’s entire face. “You need a nap,” he said softly. His face pressed near Geralt’s. He wanted to trace the dark circles under his eyes, but he held himself back. 

“Hmm,” Geralt said in an affirmative way.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“I- No.”

“ _Geralt._ You need sleep. Come on.” He took Geralt by the arm and led him up to the room he’d been staying in. There was no sign of blood on the sheets any longer. 

In through the windows to either side of the bed came soft morning light, dancing its way through the barely-there curtains. The morning was still fairly early and it was reasonable to go back to bed, or, in Geralt’s case, _to_ bed. 

Jaskier wasn’t wearing shoes so he slid under the covers as he was. 

Geralt toed off his boots and laid next to him on his side, breathing in Jaskier’s lavender perfume. The bed underneath him was comfortable, and soon he could feel himself drifting off. 

Beside him, Jaskier was alert from his good night’s sleep. And so he looked around the room, and the way the sun fell onto the dark wooden floor and the up and down of Geralt’s chest as he breathed. He reached out and ran his fingertips through Geralt’s hair, tracing lines on his scalp with his nails.

Geralt let out a sigh of contentment. 

At last, sleep claimed them both, leaving them curled around each other.


End file.
